


One Hundred Aspects of the Moon

by sannlykke



Series: anachronisms of a floating world [3]
Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Alternate Universe - Steampunk, Background Relationships, Implied Akashi Seijuurou/Mayuzumi Chihiro, M/M, Other, POV Alternating, Taisho Era
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-04
Updated: 2018-05-22
Packaged: 2018-12-24 03:48:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12004368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sannlykke/pseuds/sannlykke
Summary: All he knows now is the rush of air keeping him alive, the dazzling sunshine high above, his shadow moving across the dunes…He's done getting himself into trouble—or so Captain Nijimura thought, before being saved by a beautiful stranger after a night out gone awry. Finding himself drawn again and again back to Himuro and the streets of Gion, he quickly becomes entangled in those intrigues and secrets simmering beneath the flower-and-willow world.





	1. Moonlight Patrol

**Author's Note:**

> title taken from tsukioka yoshitoshi's ukiyo-e series "tsuki hyakushi" which you can view [here](http://www.fujiarts.com/cgi-bin/encyclopedia.pl?page=yoshitoshi_100_aspects_of_the_moon_tsuki_hyakushi)!
> 
> this steampunk au **does not** follow actual historical events, so while it's ostensibly set in the early 20th century, there's a lot of fudging of history and practices. i know nobody reads fic to get history lessons but i just wanted to put that out there anyway, thank you for understanding.
> 
> (in particular, please refer to [this list](https://geimei.tumblr.com/geishadocumentaries) for a much better documentation of geisha culture.)
> 
> the main ship is nijihimu!! garciraki and mayuaka appear in small doses; there are no other ships i plan to include overtly though you are welcome to make your own conclusions based on what i've written before lol.
> 
> ...ok i've rambled enough let's just start.

****The lights of this city never dim. Even with the technological advancements happening all over the country, some things stay the same: the red-and-yellow lanterns hanging high on the eaves, the clamor of laughter and shamisen long into the night, all along the road to sin and solitude.

Tonight the moon is absent. In the small hours of the night, as the merrymaking winds down, Tatsuya finally departs the teahouse. He hails a buggy—an extra expense, though after an exceptionally long day he can’t be bothered to walk back anymore—and makes himself comfortable on the velvet seats, leaning away from the window. Before he can get a bit of shuteye, however, he hears the click of the partition sliding open.

“Long day, huh?”

“Mm.” The taxis coming in and out of Gion are strictly regulated; it’s a profitable business for those who know their way around town. People are not the only ones moving across town lines and class divides, after all. “You’re out late tonight too, Takao.”

“End of the month coming,” Takao replies. They encounter a bump, and then, “Gotta hustle, you know. People pay more at weird hours—well, most people do.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to stiff you,” Tatsuya says, through a yawn. He desperately wants to shove his face in a pillow, but it’s just his luck that today’s engagements had all been on the other side of the sprawling district. “You already know where I live, anyway.”

“That’s true.”

The vehicle passes through several drunk stragglers, though it does not stop when several of them try to flag it down. Unspoken rules among the drivers dictated to them their routes and passengers, though in the dark of the night those rules sometimes become hazy and indistinct. Tatsuya looks out the window, at silhouettes of buildings and blinding lights being left further and further behind.

Then the carriage stops abruptly, and he almost smashes his head against the partition.

“Hey, what the hell?”

“Uh,” Takao whispers in the ensuing silence, “Sorry bout that, but there’s kinda someone blocking the way.”

 

 

“…Maybe he’s just drunk?”

“There’s blood—“

“Oh?” Tatsuya shifts in his seat, trying to get a better look at the body from his window. He really isn’t in the mood for this today—the bridge is too narrow for Takao to ease around, and though these carriages are comfortable enough, they don’t have any of the ritzy hovering capabilities of the ones found in the financial district. “I’ll move it.”

“I don’t know if that’s a good—“

He shoves the door open, ignoring Takao’s indignant _hey, don’t you run off on me now, we’re nowhere near your place_ and walks towards the obstacle in the road. Whoever it is is lying facedown, his expensive-looking clothes marred by blood, though it’s not the worst Tatsuya’s seen. He squats down, checking the man’s pulse—he’s alive, but clearly unconscious. A very faint scent of alcohol hovers in the air between them, though worse things have happened in these parts.

“He’s alive,” Tatsuya says as Takao joins him, the driver’s face contorted in a rarely-seen frown.

“Do you know who he is? Damn, this looks like a captain’s jacket. What’s he doing out here like this?”

“…”

Tatsuya turns the man’s face towards them; he looks surprisingly fresh-faced, seeming not much older than anyone present, if at all. There’s a small cut on his left cheek and a bruise forming at his jawline, but all in all most of the damage seems to have been done elsewhere. Wherever the blood had come from, it didn’t look like it belonged to this man. “Looks like he put up quite a fight.”

Takao sighs. “You would know that. What do we do now? Leave him?”

“Can’t see what else we could do.”

“Oi, I was kidding, but…there aren’t any hospitals open right now, and Shin-chan is in Tokyo…”

“Help me move him to the car.”

“What.”

 

 

“You were going to ask anyway,” Tatsuya murmurs in the dark, one hand keeping the unconscious man from falling forward, the other on the door handle of the carriage.

Takao laughs. “You aren’t wrong. I’m surprised, though.”

“Hm?”

“You sure you’re not like, some secret spy who’s replaced the real Himuro Tatsuya, because this is a hell of an act of charity coming from you.”

Tatsuya doesn’t answer with anything other than a shrug.

The others have been long asleep by the time he gets home, the courtyard quiet apart from occasional cricket-song and rustle of leaves. He’d paid Takao extra for cleaning the blood and grit off his seat, though there shouldn’t be so much considering he’d been holding the man on his lap for most of the ride. Alex would scold him in the morning, but he could wait to think about that.

Takao had been wrong. This isn’t charity. It’s far from that.

As the man lay there—snoring gently, and now much more cleaned up with Takao’s help—Tatsuya undresses in the adjacent washroom, layers of silk falling to the ground until there is nothing left. Hopefully Taiga would not be too alarmed at the bloodstains if he was dropping off the wash like he’d promised later.

The water is warm. He sinks into the bath, closing his eyes, and lets the steam take over.

 

 

*

 

 

Shuuzou comes to gradually, with the sunlight trailing across his face, the unfamiliar smell of something delicious prompting him awake more than anything else. He opens his eyes to a decidedly unfamiliar ceiling—right, he was at a party last night, he thinks, rubbing his eyes. An excursion that Kubota had talked him into, marking his first time in Gion. His whole body is sore. That, Shuuzou thinks, mustn’t be right—

Wait.

He sits up straight, and bites down hard on his lip as pain shoots up his spine. _Damn_. The room smells like expensive incense, and looks not one bit like the teahouse he’d been in last night. And he’s still wearing the clothes he had on last night, though there are stains clinging to the fabric that he doesn’t remember being there. Shuuzou remembers leaving through the back door to get some air and time away from Kubota and Sekiguchi, who’d been preoccupied with playing drunk hide-and-seek with one of the geisha. Then…then, what had happened?

_Not again._

Then he hears voices: indistinguishable at first, then louder as they approach the room. Shuuzou looks around, feeling his head spin: it’s not a big room, and aside from the one mat he’s currently sitting on it’s nearly full of junk. He could hear a woman speaking, but it doesn’t sound like the teahouse owner.

“—is he?”

“—told me about this—“

“Taiga, you know you sleep like a log—“

“Do you even know who he is?”

The door slams open.

“You’re awake.”

Shuuzou stares up at the three people crowded around the door. The lone woman—a foreigner, from the looks of it, though it isn’t uncommon anymore for Westerners to find themselves here since the ports opened again—yawns, blinking at him. “Oh. You didn’t tell me you’ve kidnapped a captain, Tatsuya.”

“It wasn’t a kidnapping, Alex, I found him on the street.”

“You what,” Shuuzou says, rubbing his head. The man who’d just spoken is looking to the woman, his profile obscured by a long fringe of dark hair. Something in his voice makes Shuuzou pause before he keeps going. “I was on the street?”

“Out cold. Don’t you remember anything from last night?”

“I thought you said you don’t know him?”

“I said I found him unconscious on the street.”

As they squabble among themselves, Shuuzou shakes his head, taking a closer look at the things surrounding him. Among the junk—antiques by the look of it, old instruments, furniture—he spies paper-wrapped kimono folded neatly in the dressers lining the walls.

“…I’m still in Gion?”

“Where else would you be?” Finally the man turns to look at him, and his heart skips a beat. There’s a smile on his face, but the expression in the single eye Shuuzou can see is inscrutable. _He’s beautiful._ “If you tell us where you live, I’m sure Taiga can drop you off at a carriage station on his way downtown.”

Beside him, the redheaded man fidgeted, clearly looking none too pleased at being offered up as a taxi replacement. At least, Shuuzou surmises from the conversation thus far, he doesn’t seem to have _actually_ been kidnapped. Though there is something about the man looking at him… “Oi, I’m already late for work!”

The mention of work sends a jolt through him. “It’s alright, I just, can you tell me what time it is?”

“It’s quarter to nine,” the woman—Alex, he thinks, that’s what he heard them call her—says, looking at her watch. Shuuzou could see light reflecting off the glass from where he sat, not understanding at first, and then he bolts up. “Oh? Wait a minute—”

“Shit, I’m sorry, but I’m really late…is there a station nearby?“

Alex frowns. “But your clothes…“

“Never mind them,” Shuuzou interrupts, his heart racing as he pushes past them; there’s an indignant sound from the tall redhead, but he has no time to care. “I’m already fucked anyway.”

 

 

He barges into the office just as the clock strikes ten. Akashi is sitting at his desk, his face mostly buried in the morning newspaper. Neither of them speak for a few moments.

“Nijimura-san,” Akashi says, putting down the newspaper—Shuuzou could just about make out the headline: _Merger break between Akashi Corp. and Fukuda Steel reveal financial inconsistencies_ —“I was under the impression you were on sick leave.”

“I’m sorry,” Shuuzou says promptly, furrowing his brows. Was that the excuse Kubota had given him? “I…overslept.”

“It’s a good thing, then, that you don’t have any scheduled departures until the afternoon.”

“…Yes.”

He watches Akashi fold the newspaper neatly into a square, placing it atop the pile of books that have more or less been there since Shuuzou had moved to Kyoto two years ago, two years after entering the company. There is, he also notices, something like a bruise mostly covered by Akashi’s shirt collar. It might be a shadow, but it also might not be. In any case, Shuuzou isn’t about to find out; Akashi turns towards him sharply, smiling in a way that catches him like a deer in headlights.

“Try to not stay out so late again, Nijimura-san. Can you do that for me?”


	2. The Gion District

“Tatsuya.”

“Hm?”

“…Is there something you want to tell me?”

The comb in his hands slips a bit, but he runs it through her hair with no other issue, bringing it up, twisting it, then fastening it with several pins. Alex doesn’t like putting wax in her hair—it’s much too harsh of a treatment, she’d complained the first time they’d taken her to a hairdresser for an event, and they’d ended up getting her a wig instead. This time, though, they don’t have time for anything custom-made; this particular party invitation had been quite abruptly dropped into their laps.

“Araki-san wanted us to pick up strawberries at the market on the way without telling you.”

She sighs, leaning backwards into the chair. Tatsuya could hear Taiga moving about in the adjacent room, pulling out and stacking mats atop each other for the upcoming spring cleaning. “Tatsuya…”

“Alex, I’m fine. Work’s fine.” He tucks the rest of her hair, the stray tufts that refuse to stay still, beneath the pins and tresses of her ornaments. He’s not lying, really; none of this has to do with work. “Is this alright?”

The door slides open, revealing Taiga covered in what looks like the entirety of the dust generated in the guest bedroom for the past year. “Oi, you two, we’re running late already.”

“Says the person who still needs to shower.”

“I—you know I don’t take that long!”

“Taiga, just go wash up,” Alex says, reaching up to touch her hair. She smiles at Tatsuya, shaking her head. “We’ll be ready soon.”

 

 

 

The cherry trees lining the roads are in starting to bloom now, spilling their blossoms onto the ground illuminated by lantern-light. Tatsuya looks out the carriage, observing the people milling about and the ring of bicycles alongside the pavement. It’s shaping up to be a typical night in the district; despite the amount of people going on their evening hanami trips in the outskirts of town, they would not be among them today.

Takao makes a stop at the market just before it closes, letting Taiga off for a few minutes to pick up the requested strawberries (it’s a little early for them, but any will do for now) before heading back to the main road cutting across the middle of town. Up front, Tatsuya can hear small talk coming from behind the panel, and Taiga is looking out his window at the food stalls clustered at the edge of the river.

They pass the bridge, and Tatsuya closes his window.

“Won’t you be coming inside too, Takao-kun?”

“Nah, I can’t take the night off today,” Takao says, leaning out the driver’s seat window. “Got work elsewhere. Y’all enjoy yourselves though!”

“See you!” Alex replies brightly, waving at him as the carriage departs. There are already other guests coming towards the teahouse, alone or in pairs, bathed in red-and-gold lantern light. Tatsuya can see Masako behind a cherry tree, her face shrouded by flowers and thin branches as she received each person before a maid guides them inside. Of course Alex is already making a beeline for her, so he turns towards Taiga.

“You ready?”

“Yeah, let’s get this started.”

 

 

*

 

 

“How long are we staying there?”

“Three hours, Nijimura-san,” Akashi says. He’s not looking out the window; not that there’s much to look at now, except the lanterns. “Try to behave.”

“Oi.”

It’s been two weeks since his last visit. Another captain had taken over his shift for today, as Akashi had been insistent on having Shuuzou come as well. It might as well be some kind of punishment for the incident last time, as Akashi is well-aware of Shuuzou’s aversion to company parties—then again, his father would’ve said it a good chance for him to make connections, so maybe he’d just try and see it that way. Akashi could’ve chosen one of the senior captains to accompany him, but he hadn’t. Maybe Shuuzou should be grateful.

Three hours. That’s doable.

“I heard,” Akashi says as their carriage comes to a stop, “Takeda-san has gotten some very special entertainment for us today.”

“Oh? Like what?”

“I wouldn’t know anything about that,” Akashi replies primly, his eyes flickering towards Shuuzou’s. Right, of course—Akashi doesn’t come here often. The company is headquartered elsewhere, and most parties he attends seem to take place in the financial district: in fancy ballrooms and under dim lights, mingling with whatever foreign guests he has to receive.

Though Akashi Sr. still heads the corporation, it is Akashi Seijuurou who almost singlehandedly runs the aviation company, the newest and most prestigious of the industries the family controls. Shuuzou had surmised as much when he’d accepted the job offer not from a senior captain or some other officer but directly from Akashi himself. Something Akashi isn’t likely to have him forget.

As the footman guides Akashi down the steps—it’d not been the first time Shuuzou had ridden on one of the special carriages reserved for important company personnel, but he’s always marveled at how high off the ground they actually go—Shuuzou follows, marveling at how a kimono on Akashi makes such a striking difference from the usual western formalwear he seems to prefer.

“Akashi Seijuurou?”

“Yes,” Akashi says graciously, nodding at the woman standing in front of the door. The proprietor of the teahouse, Shuuzou can immediately tell; her hair is up in a modest bun, the emblem of the teahouse stark white against the dark lavender of her clothing. There’s a no-nonsense look about her that immediately gets Shuuzou standing a little straighter, looking ahead as Akashi carried on small talk with her as she guided them inside. “I understand that Takeda is already here, Araki-san.”

Though not even eight o’clock, Shuuzou can already hear rowdiness coming from inside the brightly lit entrance of the room. Inside he finds men and drink, mingling with servers, in both kimono and suits. Shuuzou looks at Akashi, but Akashi is staring resolutely ahead. He smiles at Takeda, a smile that could either signal _we’re off to a good start_ or _time to ruin another rival company_ , Shuuzou can’t quite tell.

It’s going to be a long night.

 

 

 

Shuuzou doesn’t recognize him when he comes into the room, at first.

There’s something graceful in that gait that catches his eye immediately, the way he stops in the middle of the room, in a position that makes it clear a dance is on its way. Shuuzou hadn’t seen any taikomochi before, though he’d known of their existence from the posters he’d seen in the streets advertising for the upcoming _Miyako Odori_.

Interest piqued, he leans forward to see if anyone else comes in, but soon enough Shuuzou sees the attendants shutting the door. Considering what he knows about these entertainers, which is admittedly little, perhaps this is someone extra special. Akashi sits beside him, and Shuuzou can already see a flush of red on his cheeks—he’d always been a poor drinker, and his frequent social gatherings hadn’t seemed to change that fact. Shuuzou smiles a little.

Somewhere, a shamisen sounds, as well as a voice. It sounds familiar, though he cannot place who or where he’d heard it, exactly. Shuuzou doesn’t see the musician either until he glances towards the back, where he can see shadows behind the bamboo partitioning, and by then the dance had started.

The song, he surmises despite the archaic wording, tells the story of a lost love, a woman searching along the river for someone she had left behind. Shuuzou stares, transfixed, as the man’s steps take him near, slow enough for Shuuzou to see every thread of the dragon embroidered on his sleeve, tiny white bellflowers dangling from the lacquered ornaments in his hair. A flash of pale wrists, sweeping robes, sorrow embedded in every movement he makes. Then he looks up, and Shuuzou feels his mouth run dry at the recognition.

 _Shit_.

 

 

 

“Akashi-kun, Nijimura-senpai.”

“…Kuroko?” Shuuzou turns to Akashi. “Did you know he was going to be here?”

“I had thought it a possibility,” Akashi replies noncommittally, his eyes flickering towards the people talking in the hallway. The party had more or less broken down into little group conversations here and there, as they always do. “Tetsuya has been playing the shamisen for the _Dances_ every year for a while now, have you not?”

“Yes,” Kuroko says, nodding towards his instrument. “I was invited…Araki-san said they needed someone in a hurry, and I’ve worked with Himuro-san before.”

“I see,” Akashi says, in a way that tells Shuuzou he’s filing the information away for later. And in a way that was not sorry at all for the apparent headache his schedule had caused everyone. “Well, I enjoyed the performance, Tetsuya. I suppose we ought to get going now, though—Nijimura-san?”

“Yeah, sure—“

“Actually, I have another appointment in an hour,” Akashi tells him as they near the door, after saying their goodbyes and well-wishes to Takeda (already mostly asleep from the drink, but manners are manners.) Shuuzou looks at him incredulously, and Akashi continues right when he’s about to ask. “I will be fine, Nijimura-san. But I’m afraid I must go alone.”

“Is this about…” The image of the bruising on Akashi’s neck surfaces again in Shuuzou’s mind, though he doesn’t continue the sentence as Akashi gives him a look of certain death. “Right. I’ll catch another carriage back, then—“

“You may stay longer, if you wish. Perhaps catch up with Tetsuya, or with the dancer you’re so fixated on.”

“Hah?”

Akashi smiles, a little dangerously—Shuuzou will chalk it up to the alcohol, because otherwise he isn’t sure he wants to see that particular expression _ever_ again. The lantern-light reflecting off his eyes gives them an almost hellish glow. Hell, maybe _he’s_ had too much to drink as well. “I will see you on Monday, Nijimura-san. Goodbye.”

 

 

*

 

 

“So he works for _that_ Akashi,” Taiga says, in a tone Tatsuya will judge as somewhat impressed. It’s evident Kuroko had been the one to relay this information to him, as this is the first he’s left the kitchen since arriving. Kuroko himself is talking to the guy in the hallway, a far enough distance from them that Tatsuya’s sure neither of them can see him and Taiga standing near the door. “What’s his name again?”

“Shouldn’t Kuroko-kun have told you that too?”

“I dunno, must’ve missed it. He just told me something about…something about them going to school together in Tokyo. That thing two weeks ago…”

Tatsuya closes his eyes. The image swirling inside his mind is not of the man lying unconscious on the ground, or the on the futon inside the guest room, and that he pushes away. “Yes, that was him.”

“Oh,” Taiga says. He dusts away the flour from his collar. “Well.”

Then they hear footsteps coming towards them, and Kuroko’s face peers out from around the corner, motioning towards them. “Nijimura-senpai wants to meet you.”

“Who do you mean by _you_ ,” Taiga starts to say, but the guy—Nijimura—is already there, standing behind Kuroko with a sort of bewildered look on his face. Tatsuya can tell he’s a little drunk—maybe a _lot_ of drunk, though he seems to be holding it together quite well despite that. Of course it would happen to anyone eventually in this sort of a gathering, and he nudges Taiga to be polite. “Oh. Um, hi.”

“Hey,” Nijimura says. An awkward lull ensues, followed by Kuroko’s not-so-subtle cough. “So, uh, I’m sorry about that time…”

“Perhaps we should start over,” Tatsuya cuts in smoothly, looking around at all of them. Nijimura blinks at him; Taiga mumbles something that sounds like _yeah, it’s fine_. “After all, this our first proper meeting. There’s no need for apologies.”

He could see palpable relief come over Nijimura’s face as Kuroko decides helpfully to speak up. “Kagami-kun, Himuro-san, Nijimura-senpai was my senior in school. He's a captain—”

“Oh! You’re an _actual_ captain? Like for the zeppelins?” Taiga says, his eyes suddenly lighting up. Tatsuya stays silent as his brother stands up a bit straighter, pulling at the corners of his shirt. “That’s really cool! So like, you've been on the _Hundred Lights_ then? The—"

“If you’ve been following the papers, Taiga, you’d have recognized his name at least,” Tatsuya says, allowing himself to smile. “Nijimura Shuuzou, the youngest captain on the Akashi fleet.”

 

 

 

“You already knew who I was?”

Though spring is already upon them the nights are still cool enough to warrant outerwear, Tatsuya prefers feeling the wind on his skin, what slivers of his skin is showing through the heavy robes of performance he still needs to don until he is home. Here, in the courtyard, it’s a little easier to breathe. Nijimura stands next to him, sneaking glances whenever he can—if he knows Tatsuya is looking, if he isn’t, it doesn’t matter. For all of his acting at nonchalance Tatsuya can tell he’s still hung up about that incident.

“I thought you looked familiar,” he admits, looking straight into Nijimura’s eyes—he’s coming along on his way back to sober now, though the marks of tiredness from the night’s activities are starting to show. “If it is not too much to ask, what happened that night?”

Nijimura scratches his head, pursing his lips. “I don’t really remember…I got lost after visiting a teahouse…it was Asashibu, I think. I got into a fight with someone, but…ah, it’s embarrassing thinking about it.”

“Ah,” Tatsuya says. It’s a wonder how far he’d wandered then, as Asashibu was on the opposite direction from the road back to the okiya. “It’s no matter. If this was your first time here, it’s easy to get lost.”

“Yeah, I guess.” He takes a deep breath. “Well, now that that’s over with…thank you, Himuro, for…that. I really appreciate it.”

Like a drop of ice water into a still lake, he feels time stop for a moment; it passes almost uneventfully except for the slightest of ripples still beating against the chambers of his heart. Nijimura is looking at him curiously, and Tatsuya forces himself to respond in turn. “It’s really no problem, as I’ve said before. But…”

“But?”

“You don’t have to be so formal,” Tatsuya continues. Out of the corner of his eye he spots Alex coming onto the steps, but she’s too busy talking to Taiga to notice them. “You can just call me Tatsuya.”

“Oh,” Nijimura says, visibly relaxing. “I thought you were gonna say something like, “Now you owe me your entire life,” or—“

“Do I seem like that sort of person?”

“No! I mean, no, you don’t, I was just—“

Tatsuya smiles, leaning forward to put a finger to his lips. “It’s fine, I know what you mean.”

“…Are all of you like this?” Nijimura says finally, after Tatsuya drops his hand (there’s a hint of confusion in his eyes, but also something else, a little wild). In what little light there is left, his cheeks are still tinged pink—though whether from alcohol or something else is another matter. “Damn, I mean, yeah. Tatsuya, I got it. I guess…you can just call me Shuuzou then, if you want.”

“I’ll remember that for next time,” Tatsuya replies, tilting his head. “Shuu.”


	3. Moon and Smoke

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this chapter's a lil short! there's a longer one coming up, so please bear with me for now o)-<

“You’re going back there after we land,” Kubota says, during lunch break. He points a stirring spoon at Shuuzou, who stares back at him indignantly. “Aren’t you?”

“I’m going home.”

“Right,” Sekiguchi mutters beside him. The sound of the machinery behind them is so loud he’d barely caught the words. “You haven’t been right since Akashi took you to that party. Who is it? Minako?”

Shuuzou frowns. “Who the hell is that? I just need some time off, considering how hard Akashi’s been working our asses this month.”

“Not our fault.”

“Totally your fault,” Shuuzou grumbles. True to his predictions, Akashi had been in a markedly better mood that Monday than he’d been all week, but that had just meant extra domestic shifts for all of them. _And_  outlining new routes to China. Maybe it’s punishment for The Incident, as it had been cemented into his head, but Shuuzou preferred to think about it as a successful business venture borne out of the company party (if only to make him feel better about it.) On top of that, his lesson plans in instructional flying had only increased, as well as his hours on the newer light aircraft set for rolling out during the latter half of the year.

True, he’d had Kise helping out between shifts, but listening to an overenthusiastic young first officer yap his ear off the whole way had done little to improve his sleep-deprived state. Even though he isn’t the nervous wreck he’d been years ago, afraid of even being a _passenger_ , even—it had brought some of it back, with his extra job of watching over new officers barely a couple years younger than himself. He glances at the clock, then back at the navigational charts on the table. “Anyway, let’s prepare the passengers for landing. We should be getting there soon.”

 

Shuuzou doesn’t go back to Yosen Teahouse. His Kyoto apartment, in an ordinary neighborhood twenty minutes away from the offices, is waiting for him as it had always been. In Tokyo, Shuuzou sleeps in the company quarters provided officers, four men to a somewhat spacious—for the city—room. He hasn’t seen his parents in a year, though he hears about them from his siblings from time to time: his father is doing decent, still mostly confined to his house, but the sickness much more manageable than it had been during his school years. The money he’d been sending home has been of use, after all.

Maybe he should ask for time off next month. Shuuzou glances at the posters tacked to the walls of the pub nearest his place as he tapped his fingers around his glass of scotch. He listens to the whir and sigh of the newfangled coffee machine, puffs of steam obscuring the bartenders’ faces as they scurried around with orders. Above him and crammed in every piece of available wall space are advertisements of circuses, repair services, the opening of new clubs in town. A promotional poster for the _Dances_ is among them, and on the poster is someone familiar, the artist’s rendition of his visible eye seemingly staring straight into his very being.

It’s a wonder just how much makeup can alter someone’s appearance, even in a painting. Shuuzou hadn’t been into those performances before, but certainly he would’ve recognized that gaze if Tatsuya had been the one on the posters last year. Behind Tatsuya’s longing gaze is a figure obscured by thick brushstrokes, intentionally so. Would this be a similar dance to the one Shuuzou had seen him perform weeks ago? He notes the date: two months from now.

Now that he thinks about it, nursing his drink, it’s surprising that Tatsuya had recognized him. Shuuzou doesn’t think of himself as someone who looks to the camera very often, a supremely annoying process that included sitting down for about five hundred hours before the machine is ready to go. Nor does he really see himself in the papers, apart from brief mentions that mostly dealt with Akashi’s side of things: new flights chartered, company image, how brilliantly the young heir was managing a booming business. 

Maybe he’s interested in niche flight magazines or something. Shuuzou finishes his drink and, after leaving the coins on the table, pauses to look at the poster one last time.

_Shuu_. That’s what Tatsuya had called him, without hesitation. Maybe it was a Gion thing, that familiarity of tone, the touch of human warmth on a cold night, but it does not leave his mind even as he exits into the night.

 

 

*

 

 

Tatsuya would not be seeing either Taiga or Alex for most of today; Taiga’s workshop had recently received an enormous order for parts, and he’d just seen Alex off to a five-day business trip to Nagoya.

The okiya is silent, save for the washroom where the machine slowly churns the day’s laundry clean. Tatsuya knows better than to meddle with it, now; Taiga had always been the one to fix and maintain their things, even in their younger days. He’d always had that touch—not so much for books, but for breathing the life into cold dead metal.

That was how Alex had found them almost fifteen years ago, in a scrapyard masquerading as a playground. Taiga had cobbled together a makeshift clock, its slightly rusted springs creaking as Tatsuya had slid down a mountain with a piece of metal, the wind in his face all that he’d ever wanted despite the multiple scratches he’d ended up with. It had been the only place closest to the orphanage they could play in.

Fifteen years later, he is here. Tatsuya looks into the mirror as he combs through his hair, at his hands, the small scar stark white at the base of his neck. Usually it’s covered up by makeup, and if not by one of the collars of his kimono, but today he has no events to attend.

Instead, he walks across the courtyard, takes the left staircase to the second floor, and goes into the room Alex had jokingly called the gondola. They had built this room together, him and Taiga, after…

Tatsuya runs a hand over the control board, the familiar bumps and ridges warm beneath his fingers. He closes the door and pulls out the chair, leaning forward as to see clearly out the window, across the low rooftops and towards the city where buildings loom higher. In the distance, the zeppelin towers rise into the sky, and he could observe, if he waits for it, the low thrum of light aircraft flying overhead. Here, he knows every button and lever, every sound and sigh, as distinct as each note of the shamisen.

He reaches down to flip on a switch, and waits for the room to come to life around him.

 

“You work too much.”

Tatsuya doesn’t answer. Instead he shoves another spoonful of omelets at Taiga’s plate. It’s late, almost midnight, and they probably shouldn’t be eating at this sort of time. But whatever—Tatsuya goes back to his own plate. “I should say the same for you, Taiga.”

“It’s good work,” Taiga says a little sullenly, stabbing at the egg with his fork. “It’s not like—“

“Like what.”

Taiga closes his eyes. For a moment Tatsuya wonders if he’s pushed too much, like he always does. He’s gotten better at it—a lot better, after _the fiasco_ that had nearly split them apart for good. Alex isn’t always going to be here, to be a mediating force—they’re adults now, and even living under the same roof isn’t going to guarantee anything.

Taiga exhales. “I, well. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it that way, work—”

“You don’t need to apologize,” Tatsuya says quickly, the bitter taste at the back of his throat receding ever so slightly. “I shouldn’t have either.”

“There’s just a lot going on this month,” Taiga says, finishing up his plate. He has a bad habit of talking while he chews, but Tatsuya doesn’t point it out this time. “Riko said there’s more orders coming in. Propellers, canvases, everything.”

“Oh?”

“Seems like everyone's gearing up for newer models,” he continues, putting down his fork. “Developing lighter aircraft and that kind of stuff. Especially Akashi Corp, that’s where we’ve been getting the most—hey, you haven’t been seeing that guy again, have you?”

“I haven’t,” Tatsuya says, truthfully. He hasn’t even thought about Nijimura Shuuzou for the past week, something of a feat considering how hard he’d worked to get there. He hasn’t touched the papers, either—otherwise he would’ve known what Taiga had just confirmed for him. “I doubt he or Akashi have anything to do with this, anyhow. Aida-san’s name is big enough in the industry to speak for itself.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Taiga replies. He takes Tatsuya’s plate, gets up, heads towards the sink. Then he turns back. “This is probably a weird question, but…don’t you think he feels a bit familiar?”

Tatsuya stares at the table. “What do you mean?”

Taiga scratches his head. “I dunno, maybe I’ve met him somewhere before, or something…Ah, it’s probably the newspapers like you said, isn’t it?”

Running water fills the silence between them, then the clink of plates and cutlery. Taiga hums as he works, his own question evidently having slipped his mind, as he finishes washing up and only says a hearty goodnight as he heads to the bath. Only then does Tatsuya stand up, walking in the opposite direction towards the library, a room where Taiga seldom finds himself in, if only because he keeps his manuals in the garage.

Most of the books are Masako's, volumes of poetry and novels and philosophy lining the shelves, with one wholly dedicated to the art of war, which makes Tatsuya smile every time he looks at it. Some of it is Alex's, big heavy tomes of dictionaries and bound paperback folders. Tatsuya brushes the dust off the pile of magazines in the corner, pushing them aside as he locates the box behind it, the chicken-scratch, barely legible English covering its perimeters making him smile in spite of himself. Despite his obliviousness, or perhaps because of it, Taiga has found a knack for asking all the right questions at the wrong time.

And really, the answer would not matter to him in any way.


	4. The Cry of the Fox

“There, that’s much better.”

Midorima’s voice floats into his head slowly, fuzzy around the edges until he opens his eyes. Shuuzou groans as he rolls over, feeling a weight being lifted slowly off his back. He looks up blearily, raising a hand in approval. “Damn, you’re right.”

“Too much stress in there,” Midorima says somewhat disapprovingly as he pens something down on his clipboard. The bed creaks and yawns as he cranks the lever up, returning Shuuzou to an upright position. “Tell Akashi to come in with you next time.”

“Hm?”

“If _you’re_ like this, I can’t imagine how _his_ back is doing.”

Midorima thumbs through his file for a few moments longer as Shuuzou watches him, watches his symptoms become ink on paper and disappear underneath layers of other illnesses, other patients, other names. He’s always been exceedingly meticulous, a good trait to have for a doctor, but sometimes Shuuzou wonders if he himself takes the kind of advice he always doles out to his patients.

“Shin-chan, are you done? The next patient keeps badgering the nurse t—”

“Are you sure it’s not you badgering people, Takao?” Midorima shoots back as the door opens to reveal someone he doesn’t recognize. But there’s no heat in his words, only exasperation aimed at, Shuuzou thinks, the lack of other hospital personnel. “Nijimura-senpai, please take care of yourself. I’ll see you next time.”

“Thanks, Midorima—“

“Oho,” the man at the door says, pushing it open wider. He’s smiling, and his eyes are sharp. “You two know each other?”

Midorima frowns and motions at him— _Takao, was it?_ —to close the door. “What do you mean, Takao?”

“Remember when I told you like, a month ago, I picked up this random guy on the street with Himuro? He was unconscious and everything, I tell you—I thought he was dead at first! And then I looked him up, with a little help—Akashi Corp’s ace pilot, huh?”

If a hole would immediately open up in the ground and swallow him up, Shuuzou would gladly embrace it. Midorima blinks slowing, looking at him, then back at Takao. Then, to his immense relief, Midorima spares him from any further reprimanding. “Don’t say ridiculous things, Takao. If you’re looking for customers, you could just ask.”

“Eh?”

“He drives a taxi,” Midorima says, pushing up his glasses. “If you will excuse his rudeness, Nijimura-senpai, I’m sure Takao will love to take you back to the office. Wouldn’t you?”

He does need a ride back, true. Kubota had given him a ride here but wouldn’t be back on the ground until much later that night. Shuuzou shrugs, trying to play it cool. “Yeah, um, I’d better get going then. Thanks.”

Midorima’s expression tells him this will probably make it to Akashi’s office by the end of the week (if Akashi hadn’t known about it already, that was—Shuuzou still isn’t sure _how_ much he knows, but he wouldn’t be surprised if that were true). He follows Takao down the hallway, past the spacious rooms and clanking trolleys, through the back door to the parking space outside.

He doesn’t know what to say to Takao, who’s been yammering away about something or another for the duration of their short journey to the congested parking lot. Horse-drawn carriages, horseless ones, bicycles and contraptions even he’s never seen before seem swallow them up. It’s beginning to seem that the less time he spends on the ground the faster technology spits out newfangled inventions. Shuuzou climbs into the bronze-colored vehicle that Takao points at and shuts the door, waiting for the engines to start.

The partition slides open.

“You know,” Takao says conversationally, as he carefully maneuvers his way through the crowded streets, “I wasn’t tryna judge, by the way. That kind of shit happens a lot when you’re in that part of town.”

“Could we maybe not talk about it, then,” Shuuzou says, leaning back against the leather. It’s much more comfortable than he’d expected, though then again he has no idea what kind of clients Takao usually takes on. Taxis are usually confined to specific districts, and this hospital is a ways from where they’d found him. “You drive for the hospital or something?”

“Nah, I just swing by to check on Shin-chan sometimes,” Takao says, fiddling with a switch. “Don’t worry, you’re not gonna be infected by anything weird just by sitting here. I usually stay in Gion, but a detour should be fine.”

Shuuzou closes his eyes. “…Okay. You know where I’m going?”

“Nope.”

“…”

 

 

Takao is, as Shuuzou learned over the last hour, as good at driving as he is at doing so dangerously (by continuing to grill Shuuzou about _that flying business_ and giving a good rundown of town gossip that Shuuzou had no idea he was missing out on until now, while narrowly avoiding certain death in the form of other vehicles, the shittily-maintained streets, and pedestrians). Just as well. He learns, in the span of twenty minutes, about the history of the coal miners’ unionizing activities, new plans for a transnational railway (many company executives seem to develop an inability to shut up upon entering the pleasure districts, he’s found), how he met Midorima (a convoluted story that Shuuzou had absorbed perhaps ten percent of)...and of course, questioning Shuuzou about things he never thought would be brought to light again.

“Hey,” Takao says as they come to a stoplight, “Like, just wondering, do you read your own interviews?”

“Not really,” Shuuzou answers, the embarrassment creeping back into his face. Sometimes he’ll peruse the papers for anything relevant to the company, but anything close to having to reread whatever bullshit he was fed to tell the papers he usually stays far away from. “It’s not like there’s a lot out there. I'm not that important.”

“Used to fight a lot as a kid, huh? Even overseas—”

For once in his life Shuuzou thinks about it before he speaks: whatever he says will probably become part of the gossip network by the end of the day. Then again, it isn’t like he’s admitting to murder or anything, and _that_ particular incident had happened long ago and far away. “Yeah, sure.”

“Wow,” Takao says. Then, “I guess you got pretty lucky then, huh. You’re a lot easier to talk to than I expected, you know? Like, not that everyone who graduated from Teikou will turn out like Shin-chan or Akashi, but well.”

They stop in front of the headquarters, where a wide flight of stairs leads up to the central offices. Today Shuuzou has no flights scheduled, and would be spending the rest of the afternoon looking over new routes with Kise and several other officers. Takao lets the engine run as Shuuzou inches forward, pressing the bills into his hand. “Well, I’ll take that as a compliment. But—”

He then reaches out and gives Takao a well-aimed forehead flick, earning a yelp from the driver. “Hey!”

“Respect your senpai a little more, won’t you?” Shuuzou opens the door, giving him a wry smile as he exits. “I’ll see you around.”

“No problem,” Takao says, grinning as he leans down to pick up his cap. Good thing he seems to have picked up Shuuzou’s tone as well as Shuuzou had hoped it would come across. “Happy to help.”

 

 

*

 

 

It’s not unusual that crewmen would come to teahouses to drink and talk, but Tatsuya knows well enough what they’re really here for once night sets and they have no intention of leaving. Some of them leave for Shimabara, where they will get what men get when they are far away from home and their wives. Some of them, well…

Still, Masako is good at keeping the worst of the worst away, simply by virtue of her reputation in and out of Gion Kobu. There is perhaps not another former geisha or teahouse owner possessing her skills with a shinai, which she brandishes on the regular, and Tatsuya has not heard any customer complaints in the years he’s worked. That, and the connections she has—some he knows for sure, some shrouded in smoke and mirrors—with both city officials and underground associates, has kept the teahouse running quite well through the years.

Today, he is not alone in entertaining the party, a group of twenty-something men celebrating recent business acquisitions in the lumber industry. Tatsuya watches Mai flit from person to person, her laughter mingling with theirs, her steps light as she pours tea and leans down to chat. She catches him looking and winks before going back to her customers. Next year, he can already see, she’ll be the face on the posters advertising for the _Dances_.

He turns, about to continue his conversation with a guest, when he notices Masako motioning towards him, an urgent look on her face. “What is it?”

“Someone’s asked for you,” Masako says, her expression unreadable. That can’t mean anything good—it’s true many people ask after Tatsuya, but few elicit a response such as this. Still, as she leads him down the hall to the innermost room—reserved for the most private of guests. “It seems he has a penchant for requests like these, now that I think about it.”

“He?”

“You’ve met him once already,” Masako replies, smiling wryly. “I wasn’t expecting this, but…well, Mai and Akane can take care of the other guests for now.”

Tatsuya watches her slide open the door, bowing as she steps inside, her demeanor immediately solidifyinghis hunch that this isn’t any of his regulars.

“You seem to be doing well, Himuro-san.”

Tatsuya hears Masako quietly closing the door behind him. Before him sits Akashi Seijuurou, surprisingly in clothing so casual he would’ve passed for a normal citizen if not for the constant air of superiority he seems to project to everyone within a ten mile radius. He sits down, keeping on his face a delicate smile as he speaks. “You certainly seem to be too, Akashi—”

“I’ve learned some interesting things over the past few weeks,” Akashi says, cutting him off, though not harshly. “Specifically, about Nijimura-san meeting you.”

Somewhere, far away, he remembers the sirens and the shouting, a frightened look reflected the storefront glass display. And because he cannot find it in himself to say anything else that would not threaten to spill the years into the air around them, he takes the teapot and pours for his guest. “Yes?”

“I must apologize for any inconvenience the incident cause you,” he finishes, and with it the ripple across Tatsuya’s heart settles, for now. Akashi takes a sip of the tea— _yamecha_ , he can tell just by the color and scent, and wonders how much Masako had paid for it considering the poor yield this year—and sets it back down. “Though I am sure Nijimura-san has already made his amends.”

“It’s really no problem,” Tatsuya says smoothly, wondering how Nijimura had survived so long with such an intense gaze at his back. “I have seen much worse, and…Nijimura-san is an honest man. You do not come here often, do you, Akashi-san?”

“That I do not,” Akashi replies, tilting his head. “Though I expect more from my employees than to go on drunken escapades, I suppose I cannot fault Nijimura-san any more than I can fault his other colleagues who do the same. He is a very hard worker.”

“There is time for both work and play, yes.” Tatsuya pours the tea again, this time also for himself. “Is that all you wanted to talk about today? I was under the impression you are a very busy man.”

“I make time for what I want,” Akashi says with a smile. Tatsuya would not call it a dangerous smile or even threatening, but he feels the atmosphere change nonetheless. “And it is not, Himuro-san. As you perhaps know by now, my company’s operations are set to expand this year. The aviation industry in Japan is changing rapidly, considering the importation of foreign skills and technology over the past few years.”

Tatsuya blinks. “If you are here to talk business, Akashi, I’m afraid you have the wrong audience for that.”

“And I don’t believe in you underselling yourself, Himuro Tatsuya,” counters Akashi, as he stands. Somehow there is no incongruity of his plain dress and the elegant surroundings of the private room, and when Tatsuya looks up towards him it is apparent that all he has heard about the strong-willed young heir of the largest corporation in the nation is true. “I was cleaning my desk when I came across an interesting report on the national pilots’ licensing exams from five years ago.”

“That was before I took my current position, of course. Only four passed the exams that year, though one of the exam takers seemed to have put on quite a show for the practical. There is a photograph in my study, an obligatory recording—the show is not open to public, as you know.

“Though, it was not what the exam committee were looking for. A shame, in my opinion. There is much more to aviation than simply being able to lift off the ground.”

He doesn’t look at Tatsuya as he walks towards the door, a hand on the wooden frame. “There’s an airfield a mile out of town where we keep some of our light craft prototypes, in Yatsura-cho. It’s not really a secret, but I suppose it is something most people do not get to see.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Perhaps I am just curious to see what will happen if I do.”

“As am I,” Tatsuya says. He stands up as well. “You know what really happened, Akashi…and if you were simply here to relay information, you needn’t have dressed so discreetly.”

“That,” Akashi says, looking back (and now Tatsuya can see a spark there, an omen of danger as much as of amusement, and even he finds it in himself to fall silent), “will be a conversation for another day, Himuro Tatsuya. Good day.”

“Good day to you too,” Tatsuya murmurs, watching him slide the door open and shut, his footsteps receding down the hall. When Masako opens the door to seek him out again, he is still standing, the feeling of lightheadedness never leaving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (in case people have forgotten, mai and akane are izuki and koganei's sisters! i would use more yosen characters' families but i don't know...their siblings' names...orz)


	5. As the Moon Shines Serenely

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning:** There is plane crash imagery at the end of this chapter. This is a zero death fic, but there's a semi-related sequence with blood involved, just in case anyone feels uncomfortable with that.

“Fancy meeting you here, Shuu.”

“T-Tatsuya?”

There is no mistaking that voice, but Shuuzou still does a double take when Himuro Tatsuya somehow materializes beside him out of nothing. At least it had seemed that way, but he can tell now this is no illusion he’s seeing. “What are you doing here?”

Tatsuya’s gaze never leaves him as he holds up a briefcase. “I needed to run some errands.”

The busy streets of the financial district call to him in too many sounds at once: men in suits and top-hats, their canes striking the sidewalk as they went; whirring engines of levitating cabs and other vehicles whisking passengers away around them; the foghorn whistle of a distant train departing. Here it reminds him much more of Tokyo, of his days at the academy in the heart of the city. “Oh.”

Shuuzou can’t help but notice how different Tatsuya looks, once out of the almost unearthly garb of the flower-and-willow world. In a well-tailored suit his slim, pretty figure is still enough to turn the heads of many a passerby as they wait at the crossing together. Shuuzou knows in passing the rigorous training needed for his profession, but the taut muscles beneath the fabric tell a surprisingly different story.

“Did you finish those already?” he asks, not knowing what else to say. He has the afternoon off, having switched his shift in order to get ready for beginner lessons for some visiting flight school students. Shuuzou had learned fast from the visiting instructors Akashi had brought over from overseas, though his nerves were starting to get on him from his inexperience on the lighter craft. It was definitely some sort of test, he’d figured, the directions having come straight from Akashi himself. “The errands, I mean.”

“More or less.”

“Are you doing anything later?” Shuuzou says, his heart thumping. If this were too forward, Tatsuya does not show his surprise on his face as he shakes his head—it’s a wonder he’s able to detect any sort of emotion at all from the calm poker face staring back at him. At the very least, Tatsuya does not look offended or put off, and he takes that as a sign to continue. “I mean, you…you like airplanes, right?”

Now _that_ was something he might have entirely projected upon the other simply based on an earlier disjointed conversation, but Tatsuya’s expression softens a little as he nods. “Yeah, I read them sometimes.”

“Why don’t—if you want—I mean, I don’t know if I’m supposed to tell you, but there’s a new airfield just outside town—“ He takes a deep breath, hoping Tatsuya is still following him, “I’m supposed to be teaching classes tomorrow, so…do you want to go see it?”

“Oh?”

“I mean if you weren’t interested—“

“On the contrary, Shuu,” Tatsuya replies lightly, the corners of his mouth lifting like no other time Shuuzou had seen him before, “I very much am.”

 

 

They don’t talk much on the way there (it’s not that Shuuzou is nervous—fine, maybe he _is_ , but they’ve somehow wrangled themselves a company cab, and he isn’t sure how much more company gossip he wants to spawn), and when they arrive at the airfield the sun is already midway across the sky. There isn’t much in the way of things to see on the ground—a single hangar and two paved runways running parallel in the direction of the city. In the distance were several zeppelin dock towers, in one of the numerous swaths of land Akashi Corp owns throughout the Kyoto countryside.

“Nice view,” Tatsuya says as they disembark. Shuuzou feels his face heat up, though that obviously hadn’t been directed at him. “Is that…?”

“Yeah,” Shuuzou says, as they approach the aircraft already displayed in the stands. He gestures at the ground crew milling about, who wave back at him. “Amaterasu S-1.”

This particular aircraft had been written about to death in several magazines already, getting attention even the bigger dailies that circulated the city. It had been one of the company’s most farfetched ideas yet, according to several of the columnists at least. It almost looks too small for comfort, though Shuuzou knows better: seating up to two, its sleek design reminiscent of the glide-planes of his youth. An American design, though slightly modified for local taste.

But this is the first time anyone other than nosy government officials and the crew had gotten a chance to look at it—Shuuzou explains, somewhat vaguely, to the crew that he is here for a private trial lesson. It wasn’t really a lie; Shuuzou had figured somewhere along the ride that if Tatsuya were interested in flight magazines, it wouldn’t be a stretch that he’d like to see how one actually flies.

_(You just want to show off, don’t you?)_

“It’s beautiful,” Tatsuya murmurs as he runs a hand over the golden wings, leaning backwards to look at the wheels. “I didn’t know you flew these too.”

“Well,” Shuuzou says, about to say _I’ve only about a hundred hours on it total, maybe_ , but realizes that might truly and well scare Tatsuya from getting into the plane with him. “I usually stay on the _Hundred Lights_ , yeah. But they don’t have a lot of personnel for these babies yet, so—”

“They need someone who can actually read the manuals, yeah?”

Shuuzou blinks at him. “Hm? Oh—”

Tatsuya only smiles. “Keep going.”

“Well,” Shuuzou replies dumbly, following him as they circled the aircraft one more time. Had he said anything about _that_ in an interview before? Takao’s words flit through his mind for a split second. He’d been so young then, and—well, it doesn’t matter, now that he’s here with Tatsuya. “You wanna see it fly?”

“Isn’t that what you brought me here for?” Tatsuya says, his smile a touch mischievous. His hand brushes against Shuuzou’s leg as he steps aside—perhaps an accident, but Shuuzou’d be fucked if it didn’t help him somehow find his way into the cockpit and strapping himself in tightly, before forgetting that he was supposed to help Tatsuya up first. “Nervous?”

“N-no—“

“Don’t worry,” Tatsuya says encouragingly, taking a step back. He looks, Shuuzou decides right there and then, way too damned good in that suit, even with the glare of the afternoon sun in his eye. Though it’s a little embarrassing how Tatsuya’s the one reassuring him, standing on the tarmac looking like a star right out of the movies. “I want to see you fly first, Shuu.”

“What, afraid I’ll accidentally drop you out of the sky?”

(It _was_ sort of a fear that he hadn’t thought about, until now.)

“So I can appreciate it both ways.”

Shuuzou gives him a salute as he switches on the engine, listening to the aircraft beneath him roar to life. Quickly he goes through the short pre-flight checklist, noting the gauges and fuel (enough for a demonstrative flight, but he’ll have to refuel later.) He straps on his goggles and, after making sure Tatsuya is a safe enough distance away from him, waves at the staff inside the station. The Amaterasu starts to taxi slowly down towards the runway. Suddenly it looks dauntingly long—not that Shuuzou is scared of running out of space or anything, but the thumping in his heart is very, intimidatingly clear as he rounds the aircraft into position.

He looks back towards Tatsuya, who waves.

“Right,” Shuuzou whispers to himself as he looks back towards the long pavement. “Here we go.”

Taking off is exactly as exhilarating as ever, and almost as soon as he had become airborne Shuuzou takes a quick peek back—not the best behavior a pilot should exhibit, but the headwind and position of the sun is about as good as it could get for flying at this time of day. And there he is—Tatsuya, though now little more than a vague human-shaped dot on the ground along with the rest of the crew.

He circles above the airfield a few times as he considers what to do next—if Tatsuya would climb into the observer’s seat with him, how he would show him the buttons and knobs, if he were to do a quick turn in the sky while hopefully not falling out and dying. A definite risk, though Shuuzou had indeed performed a fair few tricks that had elicited admonishing from his instructors.

“You’re almost as bad as that one guy during that exam,” one of them had told him. Shuuzou had taken that as a compliment; he hadn’t been able to make it to the national examinations that year with his father’s illness forcing him away from the academy for a few months, though he’d passed with flying colors in the next year. _That one guy who had sneaked into the practical_ had become somewhat of a legend in their circle, though nobody had any idea who he was. There’s enough mystery there that Shuuzou has almost come to regard it as an urban legend, though Akashi had brushed it off when he’d brought it up once.

Akashi had undergone absolutely none of the training necessary to become a pilot, but Shuuzou doesn’t doubt that he very well could if he wanted to. He looks down again, seeing Tatsuya still standing in the same spot he’d been standing in before. Almost as if he’s transfixed to the spot—Shuuzou decides to fly lower, careful not to go near the forest just outside the perimeters of the airfield. He could see Tatsuya a little clearer now as the aircraft glides past, the dark blue of his suit black against the yellow ground.

_Does he like it? What does he feel right now?_ The questions run through his mind, but there’s no telling what Tatsuya would say once he’s on the ground again.

Suddenly the display seems a little silly—he’s showing off for someone who’s almost a complete stranger, their only interactions so far being entirely of circumstances they couldn’t have ever envisioned. But, as Shuuzou contends to himself, circling around for one last time, _why the hell not?_

When he finally lands—there’s a tiny bump, but nothing to worry about—he feels his heartbeat still going far too fast. It would not do, Shuuzou thinks grimly, if he were to die of a heart attack halfway across the sky. Zeppelins are stable, slow but steady, and flying them is nothing like flying the Amaterasu save for the fact that both let him defy gravity for some amount of time. When he taxis off the main runway Tatsuya is there waiting for him, the wind in his hair; for a moment Shuuzou thinks he sees a shadow of something on the left side of his face. Then the wind settles, and he sees only a smile.

“That was amazing, Shuu.”

“Nah,” he replies, but he can feel himself blushing. Tatsuya’s expression is soft as he climbs on to the seat next to Shuuzou, but there’s a glint of excitement in his visible eye that gets his blood pumping as soon as he straps in just as quickly as Shuuzou himself had done. “Hey, Tatsuya, you’ve done this before?”

He can’t see Tatsuya’s eyes behind the goggles (they look pretty funky on him, in an ugly-cute sort of way). “I’ve never been on anything like this before.”

“Well, you better hold on tight then.”

 

*

 

Shuuzou’s good, _really_ good, and the feeling of the wind against his face is almost enough to make Tatsuya forget where he is. This is all he’d ever wanted—the blue sky and golden rays of the sun setting the Amaterasu figuratively ablaze, the aircraft cutting through the clouds as he sets their course higher, higher.

This is better than any of the simulators he’s used, thousands upon thousands of times.

“How’s the view on your side?” Shuuzou calls out, the roar of the engines and everything else nearly drowning out his voice. “Feeling alright?”

“Yeah!”

The plane levels off, and he sees the city below: the low wood and stone buildings, townhouses of the old city, where the canals wind and curl between the streets; the new city, where the buildings rise high into the sky, though they are not as tall as the ones he saw in Tokyo five years ago. Dotted among the city are zeppelin towers and landing pads for smaller machines, though seen from above everything looks tiny and insignificant, under the late afternoon sun.

 

_For a moment, if he closes his eyes, he can see the vast stretch of the Mojave before him: the snow-capped peaks of the Sierra Nevada rising far beyond reach, his footsteps unsteady and the air hot around him as he feels the straps on his shoulders._ I’m taking off! _He shouts, and he runs, the rocky outcrop beneath his feet giving away to weightlessness, to nothing…_

 

Tatsuya sees Shuuzou reaching down for something, maybe loosening a corner of his shirt; the plane is emitting a steady hum. It’s a little cold, though one of the staff had lent him a scarf earlier. He touches Shuuzou’s shoulder. “Hey, you wanna start teaching me?”

“Oh, right, right—sorry, let me—“

He fumbles, and Tatsuya can see pink at the tips of his ears. “Don’t worry, Shuu. I won’t fall out of my seat or anything.”

“You’d better not,” Shuuzou says, shifting from his position a bit so Tatsuya could see the dashboard. “Can you see okay?”

“Yeah.”

He listens to Shuuzou briefly explain each component over the wind, pointing at the buttons and dials. It occurs to Tatsuya that they might’ve done better to do this on the ground, where there is no danger of him touching anything that might send them into a death spiral. But he finds his fears unfounded as they, after what only seems like moments, touch down again, soft bumps beneath him and the sun in his eyes.

“Can we do that again?”

Shuuzou laughs. “Really?”

And then, “Okay, let’s go over these first.”

As much as Tatsuya suspects Shuuzou likes him, it isn’t as if he’s about to let a near stranger take control of a brand new aircraft. Still, Akashi’s words echo in the back of his mind as he leans forward to touch the dashboard, letting Shuuzou guide his hands over polished wood and brass, steel and leather. He’s not going to be so overeager as to outright ask Shuuzou whether or not Akashi had steered him in this direction, too, but.

But.

_(The feeling at the back of his throat is back, moving slower and less apparent but no less bitter.)_

The wind picks up then, sending swirls of sand across the field, but dies down just as quickly. They sit there letting the crew refill the tank and clean up the runway—two short performative flights aren’t nearly enough to deplete the Amaterasu’s supply, but it’s safer than not doing so. The sun is setting imperceptibly over the horizon, giving them only one more time to take off. Tatsuya’s fingers follow Shuuzou’s, the buttons warm and solid beneath his skin. _This is real. I am here._

“I think I’m good,” Tatsuya says.

“Well,” Shuuzou replies, “Let’s have a go at it.”

This time he can feel the wind picking up as they lift off, though there are no ominous clouds in the distance or anything resembling trouble. Of course, not being able to see something does not mean the something isn’t there.

“Which way do you want me to go?” Shuuzou asks, after they’ve leveled off once more.

“Right,” Tatsuya tells him. The plane banks to the right, taking them in the direction of the city. He can see the mountains looming in the distance, beyond the shining towers. “How high can we go?”

“You wanna go higher?”

“Yeah—“

Without warning the nose dips slightly, and Tatsuya feels a bump beneath him. He hears Shuuzou curse under his breath as he pulls on the throttle. “What the hell?“

“Shuu—“

He feels a rumble, then calm; the plane seems to hold steady for the moment, but the unease at the pit of his stomach is building. “Is it stalling?”

“No—I don’t know, it shouldn’t be,” Shuuzou replies, but Tatsuya can tell it’s more to calm himself than anything. His grip tightens on the leather sides of his seat as another lurch, harder, hits them. When Tatsuya had returned to this country he had done so by ship—he remembers the rough waves, the seasickness that had taken most of the passengers including himself. Taiga never seems to get sick, at least not from the sea—he loves it almost as much as he loves tinkering on his machines.

Falling into the sea from a ship might not kill you immediately, but being stranded in the air is another matter altogether.

Tatsuya reaches out and grabs his shoulder tightly, leaning forward to see the panel. They’re losing altitude slowly, but he can hear nothing out of the ordinary—the propellers haven’t stopped spinning, at least, and there is no fire sprouting from beneath the metal plating. He looks down, unwittingly, and sees dots moving about near the runway.

Suddenly he feels dizzy.

“Can you still turn?”

“Yeah.” Shuuzou’s voice is still shaken, but Tatsuya feels him relax slightly under his fingers. He moves the stick experimentally; the plane banks, and both let out sighs of relief. “You should sit back. I’m sorry, I should’ve checked…“

“Let’s wait until we’re on the ground for that,” Tatsuya replies, frowning. “Hey, the—“

“Altimeter’s wonky, we’ll have to land without it.”

They circle widely, giving Shuuzou more space. Even without the altimeter the clear day would give them enough visibility to estimate the rate of descent, though that would not solve all their problems. The sun hangs above the horizon, waiting, not yet falling.

 

_The sun is hot and high above him when he falls, the rush of wind in his face exhilarating. For the first few seconds he feels as if he is in limbo, suspended between blue sky and sandy waste. Then the wind comes, its pressure filling up the glider and lifting him upwards. He hears Alex yell something incomprehensible below him, maybe_ watch out! _or_ remember to land slowly! _All he knows now is the rush of air keeping him alive, the dazzling sunshine high above, his shadow moving across the dunes…_

 

Then he hears something.

A low rumble at first, almost imperceptible, but when he leans over the side he can hear it clearer. The fuel tank is next to Tatsuya’s seat, and when he puts his hand on the side he can _feel_ the sound, scratching beneath the metal.

“What if it’s something in the fuel tank?”

“But they just filled it!”

“No, I mean—“ A screech cuts him off, metal against metal. Tatsuya sees Shuuzou lean sideways to get a good look at the tank, and though his goggles are in the way he has a pretty good idea of the expression behind them. “We don’t have time.”

“It’s jammed,” Shuuzou murmurs, his voice far away. “Damn.“

Tatsuya stares at the stick, noticing the way it wobbles. The plane tilts again, and the wind is in his face, and he reaches out to put a hand over Shuuzou’s, steadying the hold. Over the rumble of the plane he hears Shuuzou curse, quieter, but the both of them are able to hold it down enough that the aircraft steadies itself beneath them again.

“Watch the nose,” Tatsuya says.

He feels Shuuzou’s hand tense up slightly beneath his, in a way that’s less panicked and more curious—but neither of them have time to think much about it now as they angle away from the sun on the horizon, from the trees and the glittering river. It does not stop the question that’s been hanging in the air in coming: “You’ve done this before?”

“Simulator,” Tatsuya replies, looking at the setting sun. Shuuzou doesn’t ask any more, instead turning back to the dashboard. They’re low enough now that the dots are people again, and as the plane turns one last time for the final approach, he hears another rumble. One more look at the side yields nothing out of the ordinary, though it rings inside his head all the same.

Shuuzou says something then, words that might’ve been “landing gear down” or “brace yourself” or even “we’re going a bit fast”, but by that time Tatsuya is already lost.

 

_It happens in a matter of seconds: the string does not untangle smoothly when he pulls, and the left wing clips a jut of rock just as he descends. There’s something ironic about it all, that he wouldn’t think about until later, about the rumble of the carriage in the distance and Taiga’s yelling and the sharp jagged pain of his leg snagging on a branch. Icarus flew too high; him, not enough._

_He wakes up to the stark taste of blood on his tongue._

 

They come in high and fast, the swirl of sand and dust giving way to the screech of metal bumping the ground. They bounce once, twice. Something snaps, but the aircraft holds itself together even as it careens down the runway, both of their hands tightly grasping at each other, on the stick slick with sweat.

The Amaterasu comes to a stop at the very edge of the runway, and even as Tatsuya feels Shuuzou’s insistent tug on his arm he can already see the smoke filling his vision.


	6. Shadows of the Pine Branches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shuu starts to remember.

He’s shaking when his feet touch the ground. Tatsuya’s expression is as kept carefully under wraps as always, but Shuuzou can tell by the unusual paleness of his face that it’s not just him. And who wouldn’t be—both of them are lucky to be alive.

The ground crew descend upon them quickly, and he feels a blanket around his shoulders and water splashing at his feet, people rushing to get them away from the smouldering engine as soon as possible. Though the Amaterasu is largely intact, by the looks of it its engine and wing would take a while to fix. The lessons would require the backup aircraft, now—if Akashi were still going to let him have a go at it.

(And _what_ is he going to tell Akashi? It’s not, technically, his fault—of course, that’s what people are telling him now, but the words come in and out of his head like the buzzing of flies. He _should’ve_ paid attention. He _should’ve_ been watching. He _should’ve_ —)

“Shuu, are you alright?”

He feels a hand steal into his, cold but reassuring all the same. _Shit_ , he thinks. _This is a new low._

“I’m fine,” Shuuzou says, not looking Tatsuya in the eye. The fingers curled around his hand tighten ever so slightly, and he could see his legs trembling. “Tatsuya, you should—I’m sorry, I—I could’ve killed both of us—“

“But you didn’t,” Tatsuya replies, his voice barely a whisper. Nobody is paying attention to them right now—most of the crew are out in the field, and Shuuzou could hear someone moving about in the phone room. “We’re here.”

“We’re here,” Shuuzou echoes.

(There’s something he had wanted to ask, but—the phone rings, and he looks up, and it escapes him once more.)

 

_Where did you learn to do that?_

 

They do not talk, at first, on the way back to the city.

If Tatsuya had talked to the cabbie before, Shuuzou hadn’t caught on; but he knows as soon as their ride makes a turn into Gion that it would be a long time before he felt ready for this again.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” Akashi had told him over the phone, in a voice so level that it had almost been frightening. But what had come next had caught him more off-guard. “If you are sure you can still work tomorrow, that is, Nijimura-san. If you need Shintarou's assistance—”

“I’m fine,” Shuuzou had told him, feeling anything but. “Really. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He’s not shaking anymore, and neither is Tatsuya, but somewhere along the ride he feels Tatsuya’s hand steal into his. It’s less a gesture of comfort or terror and more of _hey, we’re still alive_.

_I’m still alive._

“Shuu,” Tatsuya says, quietly, so quietly that both of them know the driver can’t hear. “Are you afraid of flying?”

“No,” Shuuzou says, too quickly. “No, yeah. Did I say that in an interview somewhere?”

“Something like that,” Tatsuya replies. The ghost of a smile graces his lips, and Shuuzou finds himself swallowing hard. “It’s quite brave to make a living out of something you fear.”

“I wish it were brave,” Shuuzou says. It doesn’t come out as bitter as he feared it might have, but Tatsuya gives him a curious look all the same. He grips the edge of the seat tightly. “My father, he…”

“Wanted you to be a pilot?”

“No. He was sick…is, I mean. He’s better now, but.” Shuuzou leans into the leather, staring straight ahead at the partition. All those years ago he had looked through a similar window to see the vast wasteland outside, the rolling sand dunes and dust that choked up the fields on a seasonal basis, the hazy chattering of his siblings in the background as the wheels groaned down the arrow-straight road.

That had been the start of it all, though he hadn’t known it then, ten years old and still apprehensive from the month-long cross-Pacific steamboat. All Shuuzou had known was the fact that he never wanted to step foot on a boat again, though the skies, tumultuous and harsh, had seemed none the better.

_That was then._

Tatsuya’s expression does not change, not through the streetlights starting to filter in through the window nor the soft glow of the lanterns. Shuuzou shakes his head. “Anyway, you don’t want to hear me go on about this, do you? I’ll have—”

“I do,” Tatsuya replies. “But another time. You should rest, Shuu.”

The carriage comes to a stop at the gates. The driver tips his hat towards them as the door opens, its well-oiled machinery making barely a sound. “Good night—”

“Wait.”

_Oh_ , Shuuzou thinks. _Shit_. He had _meant_ to tell Tatsuya goodnight, stay safe, make another apology that in the light of things probably doesn’t mean much at all. Tatsuya looks down at his hand, puzzled if only for a second, but before he could say any more Shuuzou has slipped his hand away, looking to the okiya in the distance. He can’t do this now. “I—tomorrow. I’ll call you tomorrow. There is a phone—”

“I’ll wait,” Tatsuya says, his lips curved in a way that has Shuuzou stop talking. In the moonlight, standing at the open gates, he looks almost unreal. “Stay safe.”

 

“Hey, you there?”

Shuuzou could hear a staticky sigh from the other end of the line. “Heard you got into some shit today.”

“…Don’t even go there.” He isn’t about to waste precious phone time talking about the disaster of a flight, but apparently things aren’t going his way after all. “Is Akashi…”

“Oh.” Mayuzumi makes a noncommittal sound. “He’s not that mad, relax. Just don’t fuck up again if you’re gonna be flying your boyfriend around—”

“Tatsuya’s not—”

“So you’re admitting it, huh?”

“…”

“If you _were_ gonna ask about the records, I’ll send them over tomorrow, so quit moping. You’re gonna owe me big time for this.”

Shuuzou rolls his eyes, though he could feel his heart skip a beat at those words. “Yeah, yeah.”

He has a hunch—not much, but a hunch. Stewing at the back of his head like aging molasses, dripping through the cracks of his memories. _Tatsuya_. His name is hot on Shuuzou’s tongue, needle-sharp. Shuuzou could only hope whatever information Mayuzumi’s dug from the recesses of the governmental record files isn’t going to land him in even more hot water.

 

*

 

It’s clear that this news had not yet reached Taiga by the hurried wave his brother gives him as he rushes out the door past him—another midnight repair job, maybe. Tatsuya smiles at him reflexively, and closes the door behind. Taiga’s footsteps ring loud and clear on the stone steps outside—he’s always impatient, wanting to finish off his engagements as quick as possible.

There’s a light inside the reading room, and it’s only then Tatsuya tenses up.

Alex’s expression is terrifyingly calm even as Tatsuya knows what’s about to come, closing the sliding door behind him as he slides into his seat. An open book sits on her lap, but it’s clear from the blank pages on her typewriter that there had been no work done at all this night.

“Tatsuya.”

It’s safer, he’s found, if he looks her in the eye with a smile—despite the tone she's employing. “I’m home.”

She takes his hand, grabs it almost—Tatsuya doesn’t flinch, but he looks away as she sighs audibly.

“I heard what happened over the radio.”

“And you thought of me immediately?”

“Tatsuya.” Her hand tightens around his, and there: _he’s ten again, remembering the creaky whir of the metal blades above his head as someone cries beside his bed, a warm hand over his cold fingers_. “We’ve talked about flying before.”

“I’m not a child anymore.”

“I know that,” Alex replies. Her eyes find his, and they are gentle in their reproach. Something Tatsuya wishes he’d learned for himself. “I’m not going to stop you, and I can’t—but…Tatsuya, please be careful.”

“It doesn’t matter. The past—you said yourself, it doesn’t matter anymore now that we’re here, didn’t you?”

“Tatsuya—”

It’s easy to walk away even now, squeezing Alex’s hand in some sort of vague assurance as he leaves, sweeping out of the room in clothes that fit too tight and strange at this time of the night. She had not asked about Shuu, even though he could feel it on the tip of her tongue. A question she would surely take to Masako, though she would not find anything there. Tatsuya’s not foolish enough to believe that Alex hasn’t gotten suspicious—coincidences aren’t just coincidences around these parts.

He thinks about the one-room shanty where he’d huddled with Taiga listening to the pattering rain and Alex’s gentle snores in the background. There had been no privacy then—not as one would have it here, though this also comes at a price. The gondola is silent when he slips in the doors, but he does not turn any of the lights on.

Tatsuya closes his eyes and remembers thirteen-year-old Shuu’s face in the general store window: eyes wild, his smile mirroring Tatsuya’s own, and the California heat blazing down on them both.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's been......Months, yeah, i know.
> 
> short update this time just to get this part out of the way bc i've been writer's blocked on this part for the longest time, hopefully the next one won't take as long and is longer ahaha;;


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